


In just one dance

by justanexercise



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:39:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3528029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanexercise/pseuds/justanexercise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy's mission is simple, get the package and leave. One little dance won't hurt, even if it is a lap dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In just one dance

 

Peggy is only doing this as a favor to Maria Hill.

If she has any say in the matter, the agent responsible for this mission would be immediately delegated to latrine duty for the next month.

How is it even possible that she’s the only female agent, an inactive female agent at that, available at short notice in the immediate vicinity? Shoddy planning is what it is.

Peggy readjusts her shirt, smiling at the bulky security guard and paying the cover charge. She beelines for the bar, ordering a whiskey on the rocks. Sipping her drink, Peggy of course scans the entire club, exits in the back, the plainclothes guards as well as the uniformed ones, but no one of immediate interest. At least the soon-to-be janitor agent hadn’t leaked any of the information out.

She checks her watch, 5 minutes until show time. Peggy drains the rest of her drink, courtesy of SHIELD of course and orders another double. Making her way to the front of the stage, Peggy dodges a few scantily clad waitresses and groups of women in the seats. Peggy signs. At least she isn’t sitting in pervert’s row, but just a row behind it.

The stage lights up, the music amping up for the oncoming performance. Peggy leans back in her seat and crosses her arms.

Honestly, how could one forget Dyke Night at a strip club? A male agent that’s who.

A simple mission, Maria promises, a drop off, plus free drinks and a show. Easy.

Peggy keeps a passive face, even though her eyes admire the scantily clad form strutting down the catwalk to the stripper pole. She sighs. Well it’s a good show at least. The woman half hides her face with a fedora. She wears a corset under the unbuttoned man’s business shirt and tie. At the pole, she tosses her fedora to a group of woman, hen party by the looks of it.

She takes her eyes off the dancer, a split second to look around. No sign of the courier. Maria hadn’t been forthcoming with how exactly they were doing the drop off. Peggy sighs and takes another drink. Waitresses would be the first thought, after all the janitor-agent prepared this, why not go the most cliché way? Except no one notices Peggy. Not the indication ring on her finger, currently lifted up to her face by drinking the glass of whiskey.

Except the dancer on the stage, who shoots Peggy a smolder. Peggy raises an eyebrow. The dancer is the undercover agent? Peggy makes herself comfortable in the chair. Well then.

The dancer takes off her shirt and flings it straight to Peggy. She barely manages to catch it before it hits her face. Peggy makes a show of it, lifting the shirt to her face and sniffing while her other hand goes to the cuffs, sewn USB drive. She unhooks it and nods at the dancer, who’s doing a very impressive upside down hang.

Mission accomplished.

Peggy takes her time finishing her drink. Can’t look too eager leaving now. She blames the alcohol for her dulling senses, though the agent in question has some skill if she can sneak up on Peggy.

“Interested in a lap dance?”

She goes to decline but sputters in her drink as she looks up. The agent. At this distance Peggy notes her beauty behind the heavy eye shadow and strong muscled arms.

“I –“

The agent swings her legs and straddles Peggy, taking Peggy’s drink and place it behind them on the table.

Oh why the hell not.

Peggy lays her hands flat on the armrest. House rules and all.

“You’re a bit tense,” the agent says, smoothing her hands down Peggy’s chest.

“Not really,” Peggy says.

“Always like this then huh?”

Shaking her head lightly, an amused smile at the corner of her lips, Peggy asks, “Are you always this chatty with your clients?”

The agent bumps her hips against Peggy’s stomach. “Just the cute ones,” she taps Peggy’s nose with her finger.

Peggy opens her mouth to retort when the agent grabs the back of her neck and shoves her chest into Peggy’s face. Balling her fists, Peggy forces herself to relax, almost throwing the agent off of her. A few moments of the agent rubbing her body against Peggy like a kitten, she pulls back, much to Peggy’s disappointment. The agent runs her fingers through Peggy’s hair, messing it up. Her lips touch Peggy’s ear, the lipstick rubbing off on it as she whispers, “see you later.”

The agent winks, sliding off Peggy’s lap as Peggy pulls a 50 out of her wallet and slips it straight into the agent’s cleavage.

Peggy takes a minute to calm her beating heart.

Well, Maria did promise a good show. Peggy shakes her head; she certainly delivered on that promise.

-

“Agent Martinelli’s been asking about you,” Natasha says, interrupting Peggy’s breakfast. She slides into the booth across from Peggy and steals a sip of her coffee.

“Who?” Peggy asks.

Natasha stares at her, a few seconds later the corner of her mouth twitches. “You don’t know.”

“Pray tell, what don’t I know?”

Natasha stalls.

“Don’t make me sic Maria on you.”

“She’d be on my side.” Natasha takes a piece of her muffin. “Little bitty agent has a crush on the big bad Miss Union Jack.”

Peggy frowns, pushing her plate across to Natasha. “And?”

“You should ask her out, she’d say yes.”

“Not interested.”

Natasha dusts off her hands, getting out of the booth. “I think you would be.”

Rolling her eyes, Peggy drops a few bills on the table. Curiosity gets the better of her, she takes out her cellphone, going into SHIELD database. Martinelli. A few agents with that last name but one who’d even had an interaction with her? That might be level 7 Angela Martinelli.

Peggy blinks. Oh.

“Hey English.”

Peggy freezes and turns. Angela Martinelli in the flesh. Peggy pockets her phone.

“Miss Martinelli,” Peggy greets.

“You know who I am?” she bounces all the way to stand next to Peggy.

Peggy nods sharply. No heavy makeup today, just a dash of mascara and eyeliner. Perfectly clear skin.

“How did you find me?” Peggy asks, looking away.

“Oh I have my sources,” she says, waving her hands.

“Romanoff tipped you off.”

She ducks her head, hiding her flushed cheeks. “Maybe. You know how hard it was to even find any information on you?”

Peggy smiles. “Your search got flagged.”

“Almost had a heart attack when AD Hill and the Black Widow interrogated me.”

“Both of them? I’m impressed your heart is still beating.”

“Yea, well. Angie Martinelli, but you already knew that didn’t you?” Angie politely shakes Peggy’s hand.  

“Peggy Carter.”

Angie trips on her own feet, nearly taking Peggy to the ground with her. Peggy’s faster and stronger though, catching Angie and putting her back on her feet.

“Holy shit,” Angie covers her mouth.

Peggy sighs. Of course. She waits for it.

“You're Sharon’s cousin!”

“I...yes I am,” Peggy says.

No one’s said that before, at least not the first thing they’d say.

“Aw geez, I’d been saying no to her setting me up with her cousin cause I’d been hung up on you.”

“Sharon tried to set us up?”

“Damn English, we could’ve met a while ago.”

Peggy bites her lip. She shrugs her shoulders, her mouth curling into a smirk. “If we did, I wouldn’t have seen you dance.”

“Shut up English, you talk too much,” Angie nudges Peggy with her shoulder. 


End file.
